Birth of a Monster
by SylvarThorne
Summary: The birth of Frankenstein's monster from two perspectives: the monster himself, and a stranger passing by a window.
1. A Bad Birth

Brilliant, blinding orange-red light filled my eyes. Microscopic knives stabbed through my retinas and into the front of my brain, where it pulsated to the back of my skull. My throat and tongue tasted like cotton, and my neck was terribly stiff and sore.  
  
That's the first thing I remember: the pain. It was all over, shooting through my limbs at a speed that defied imagination, but it can't be described purely as pain. It was more like the delectable soreness that comes after using muscles that haven't had anything demanded of hem in a long while. The kind of pain that is so intense it provides an almost sexual pleasure.  
  
My newly reawakened senses were nowhere near capable of handling this powerful pleasure/pain, and my nervous system screamed to be free of it while at the same time, it seemed to be screaming for more.  
  
The indecisiveness of my body tortured my mind all the more and the electrical signals connecting the two shattered, causing me to go into violent paroxysms.  
  
My mind fought for control of my raging body, and at some point during this extreme power-struggle my eyelids flew open, exposing my newborn-esque pupils to the dazzling light that had, merely filtered through the skin of my eyelids, caused me such severe pain.  
  
I let out a keening wail of agony that exploded a glass beaker resting next to me, sending razor-sharp shards of glass flying to pierce my delicate skin.  
  
I floundered off the table I had been lying on and fell sharply on the cold flagstone floor. I heard another voice, but I couldn't distinguish words or separate syllables; it did, however, seem to be rising in exultation. I felt cold hands on my naked body; hands that weren't strong enough to life me to my feet.  
  
I squirmed and twisted away, simply wishing to get my bearings, but the horrid thing wouldn't leave me be. I shoved it away - perhaps pushing too hard - for I heard the sound of a heavy object crashing to the floor, then the sound of bare feet slapping the flagstone in a pattern that bore the thing with cold hands away from me.  
  
I stilled my body, and I lay for a moment with my cheek pressed to the comforting coolness of the floor. In a motion that was remembered, but remembered for a much smaller body, I heaved myself to my feet and cast about for a cloak or a covering of some sort; finding an overcoat that just barely clasped about my large form, I donned it and set to finding the cold-handed person who had attempted to help me. 


	2. A Bad Trip

I had just stumbled from my usual placement for begging; I'd no idea what time it was, though I had estimated past twelve, perhaps as late as one. Even those with the busiest nightlives tended to seek their beds before twelve thirty, and it have been quiet for a good while.  
  
I licked the last precious drop of absinthe from my parched lips and counted up the meager amount of schillings I had begged from passer-bys. I came to twelve, and decided that with decent bargaining, I would be able to keep my supply of that wondrously burning liquid flowing well. Perhaps if I were judicious, I'd be able to acquire a small pouch of the marvelous white powder that gave me such deliciously bright visions.  
  
I cautiously placed one foot in front of the other and traveled a well-known path to my beloved absinthe-vendor. Just two weeks ago, I had convinced him to start selling – discreetly, of course – the magical powder they call cocaine. One could easily find it quite cheap, but the aristocrats who indulged were silly enough to buy it for outrageous prices. Where it could be obtained for such bargains, however, was in an area that was somewhat seedier than I wished to venture into.  
  
At this thought, I looked down upon myself and chuckled. My clothes were little more than rags, and the skin they weren't able to cover came near to matching to color of the scarps of cloth in a dusty, dirty, muddy brown. My right hand laxly clasped the brilliant green absinth bottle – the one habit I'd managed to keep hold of: my beloved absinthe.  
  
My encounter with the merchant was brief, but friendly enough. His heart wasn't in the ritualistic bargaining and I came out of it with the upper hand, by far. I walked away, gently sipping my liquid emeralds and I paused for just a moment to open the satchel that contained my diamond-powder. I just barely ran my across the pad of my index finger and brushed it across the small mound of white dust, then touched it to the tip of my tongue. This method of imbibing wasn't nearly as effective as others, but I needed to be careful about preserving my scanty horde and anything else used too much far, far too fast.  
  
Almost immediately, my eyesight brightened and the dark shadows took on a beautiful reddish hue. Looking into the streetlamp and seeing miniature trademark absinthe faeries dancing about the pulsating yellow made me giggle with joy. The dreamy sight made me forget about the miserable weather of November, and I hardly noticed as near-freezing rain began to drip down the nape of my neck. Sliding my eyes across the walls and windows, my vision was caught by a light that I knew wasn't inspired by the wonderful dusted diamonds.  
  
Balancing like a circus-performer upon a high wire, I avoided the cracks in the street and made my way to peer into the window, which thankfully had a bit of an overhang to shelter me as I satiated my inquisitiveness. My nose just barely reached the bottom of the window and there I rested my head, as it had suddenly become far too heavy for my neck to support. My attention wandered, but I brought it back to the sight within, just to satisfy my curiosity about who would be up at such a late hour.  
  
Gazing in, I beheld a funny-looking man skittering about what appeared to be a scientific laboratory. He pranced around a table that supported a form that I could not make out, not at the moment. I jumped as the previously still shape began to convulse; in so doing, the sheet that had been covering it slid off. It rose and I beheld a countenance so hideous, I was positive it had to be coming from my drug-induced imagination. It didn't seem so: I can usually tell what is real and what isn't, but nothing on this earth could have been so repugnant.  
  
I yearned to flee, but my gaze was held captive by this ugly thing. The comical man (who was beginning to look like a satyr, for all the dancing and prancing he was doing) appeared to be as afraid of the thing as I was, and he took flight from the room. Confusedly, the thing lurched towards the window where I stood watch. I let out a small shriek and scrambled away, terrified that he – it appeared to be male, though I have no idea what it truly was – would come crashing through the brick and glass and rip out my organs and devour them, for surely that was what this monster did.  
  
I tripped over a high crack in the street that had abruptly become a good three or four inches high, and I nearly lost my grip on my precious cargo of emeralds and diamonds; regaining my balance and clutching them to my chest, I fled the scene, refusing to look back to see the monster pursuing me.  
  
When at last I paused, my lungs sobbing for oxygen, I found myself in a familiar street and completely alone. I whispered a short prayer of thanksgiving, swigged at my absinthe, and took another daub of diamonds o my tongue. Succumbing to the whirling lights, I convinced myself that the entire experience had simply been a bad vision. 


End file.
